tp.wyrd sisters-第21部分

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　were　others　behind　…　wavering；　broken　shapes；　not　exactly　ghosts　but　memories；　implanted　in　the　very　substances　of　the　walls　themselves　by　sheer　pain　and　terror。
　'My　own　dagger！　The　bastards！　They　killed　me　with　my　own　dagger；'　said　the　ghost　of　King　Verence　silently；　raising　his　transparent　arms　and　imploring　the　netherworld　in　general　to　witness　this　ultimate　humiliation。　'Give　me　strength　。　。　。'
　'Yes；'　said　Nanny。　'It's　worth　a　try。'
　'And　now　we　will　mence；'　said　the　duchess。
　
　'What？'　said　the　guard。
　'I　SAID；'　said　Magrat；　'I've　e　to　sell　my　lovely　apples。　Don't　you　listen？'
　'There's　not　a　sale　on；　is　there？'　The　guard　was　extremely　nervous　since　his　colleague　had　been　taken　off　to　the　infirmary。　He　hadn't　taken　the　job　in　order　to　deal　with　this　sort　of　thing。
　It　dawned　on　him。
　'You're　not　a　witch；　are　you？'　he　said；　fumbling　awkwardly　with　his　pike。
　'Of　course　not。　Do　I　look　like　one？'
　The　guard　looked　at　her　occult　bangles；　her　lined　cloak；　her　trembling　hands　and　her　face。　The　face　was　particulary　worrying。　Magrat　had　used　a　lot　of　powder　to　make　her　face　pale　and　interesting。　It　bined　with　the　lavishly　applied　mascara　to　give　the　guard　the　impression　that　he　was　looking　at　two　flies　that　had　crashed　into　a　sugar　bowl。　He　found　his　fingers　wanted　to　make　a　sign　to　ward　off　the　evil　eyeshadow。
　'Right；'　he　said　uncertainly。　His　mind　was　grinding　through　the　problem。　She　was　a　witch。　Just　lately　there'd　been　a　lot　of　gossip　about　witches　being　bad　for　your　health。　He'd　been　told　not　to　let　witches　pass；　but　no…one　had　said　anything　about　apple　sellers。　Apple　sellers　were　not　a　problem。　It　was　witches　that　were　the　problem。　She'd　said　she　was　an　apple　seller　and　he　wasn't　about　to　doubt　a　witch's　word。
　Feeling　happy　with　this　application　of　logic；　he　stood　to　one　side　and　gave　an　expansive　wave。
　'Pass；　apple　seller；'　he　said。
　'Thank　you；'　said　Magrat　sweetly。　'Would　you　like　an　apple？'
　'No；　thanks。　I　haven't　finished　the　one　the　other　witch　gave　me。'　His　eyes　rolled。　'Not　a　witch。　Not　a　witch；　an　apple　seller　An　apple　seller。　She　ought　to　know。'
　'How　long　ago　was　this？'
　'Just　a　few　minutes　。　。　。'
　Granny　Weatherwax　was　not　lost。　She　wasn't　the　kind　of　person　who　ever　became　lost。　It　was　just　that；　at　the　moment；　while　she　knew　exactly　where　SHE　was；　she　didn't　know　the　position　of　anywhere　else。　Currently　she　had　arrived　in　the　kitchens　again；　precipitating　a　breakdown　in　the　cook；　who　was　trying　to　roast　some　celery。　The　fact　that　several　people　had　tried　to　buy　apples　from　her　wasn't　improving　her　temper。
　Magrat　found　her　way　to　the　Great　Hall；　empty　and　deserted　at　this　time　of　day　except　for　a　couple　of　guards　who　were　playing　dice。　They　wore　the　tabards　of　Felmet's　own　personal　bodyguard；　and　stopped　their　game　as　soon　as　she　appeared。
　'Well；　well；'　said　one；　leering。　'e　to　keep　us　pany　have　you；　my　pretty。＇12＇'
　'I　was　looking　for　the　dungeons；'　said　Magrat；　to　whom　the　words　'sexual　harassment'　were　a　mere　collection　of　syllables。
　'Just　fancy；'　said　one　of　the　guards；　winking　at　the　other。　'I　reckon　we　can　help　you　there。'　They　got　up　and　stood　either　side　of　her；　she　was　aware　of　two　chins　you　could　strike　matches　on　and　an　overpowering　smell　of　stale　beer。　Frantic　signals　from　outlying　portions　of　her　mind　began　to　break　down　her　iron…hard　conviction　that　bad　things　only　happened　to　bad　people。
　They　escorted　her　down　several　flights　of　steps　into　a　maze　of　dank；　arched　passageways　as　she　sought　hurriedly　for　some　polite　way　of　disengaging　herself。
　'I　should　warn　you；'　she　said；　'I　am　not；　as　I　may　appear；　a　simple　apple　seller。'
　'Fancy　that。'
　'I　am；　in　fact；　a　witch。'
　This　did　not　make　the　impression　she　had　hoped。　The　guards　exchanged　glances。
　'Fair　enough；'　said　one。　'I've　always　wondered　what　it　was　like　to　kiss　a　witch。　Around　here　they　do　say　you　gets　turned　into　a　frog。'
　The　other　guard　nudged　him。　'I　reckon；　then；'　he　said；　in　the　slow；　ripe　tones　of　one　who　thinks　that　what　he　is　about　to　say　next　is　going　to　be　incredibly　funny；　'you　kissed　one　years　ago。'
　The　brief　guffaw　was　suddenly　interrupted　when　Magrat　was　flung　against　the　wall　and　treated　to　a　close　up　view　of　the　guard's　nostrils。
　'Now　listen　to　me；　sweetheart；'　he　said。　'You　ain't　the　first　witch　we've　had　down　here；　if　witch　you　be；　but　you　could　be　lucky　and　walk　out　again。　If　you　are　nice　to　us；　d'you　see？'
　There　was　a　shrill；　short　scream　from　somewhere　nearby。
　'That；　you　see；'　said　the　guard；　'was　a　witch　having　it　the　hard　way。　You　could　do　us　all　a　favour；　see？　Lucky　you　met　us；　really。'
　His　questing　hand　stopped　its　wandering。　'What's　this？'　he　said　to　Magrat's　pale　face。　'A　knife？　A　knife？　I　reckon　we've　got　to　take　that　very　seriously；　don't　you；　Hron？'
　'You　got　to　tie　her　hands　and　gag　her；'　said　Hron　hurriedly。
　'They　can't　do　no　magic　if　they　can't　speak　or　wave　their　hands　about　。　。　。'
　'You　can　take　your　hands　off　her！'
　All　three　stared　down　the　passage　at　the　Fool。　He　was　jingling　with　rage。
　'Let　her　go　this　minute！'　he　shouted。　'Or　I'll　report　you！'
　'Oh；　you'll　report　us；　will　you？'　said　Hron。　'And　will　anyone　listen　to　you；　you　earwax…coloured　little　twerp？'
　'This　is　a　witch　we　have　here；'　said　the　other　guard。　'So　you　can　go　and　tinkle　somewhere　else。'　He　turned　back　to　Magrat。　'I　like　a　girl　with　spirit；'　he　said；　incorrectly　as　it　turned　out。
　The　Fool　advanced　with　the　bravery　of　the　terminally　angry。
　'I　told　you　to　let　her　go；'　he　repeated。
　Hron　drew　his　sword　and　winked　at　his　panion。
　Magrat　struck。　It　was　an　unplanned；　instinctive　blow；　its　stopping　power　considerably　enhanced　by　the　weight　of　rings　and　bangles；　her　arm　whirred　around　in　an　arc　that　connected　with　her　captor's　jaw　and　spun　him　twice　before　he　folded　up　in　a　heap　with　a　quiet　little　sigh；　and　incidentally　with　several　symbols　of　occult　significance　embossed　on　his　cheek。
　Hron　gaped　at　him；　and　then　looked　at　Magrat。　He　raised　his　sword　at　about　the　same　moment　that　the　Fool　cannoned　into　him；　and　the　two　men　went　down　in　a　struggling　heap　Like　most　small　men　the　Fool　relied　on　the　initial　mad　rush　to　secure　an　advantage　and　was　at　a　loss　for　a　follow…through　and　it　would　probably　have　gone　hard　with　him　if　Hron　hadn't　suddenly　bee　aware　that　a　breadknife　was　pressed　to　his　neck。
　'Let　go　of　him；'　said　Magrat；　pushing　her　hair　out　of　her　eyes。
　He　stiffened。　'You're　wondering　whether　I　really　would　cut　your　throat；'　panted　Magrat。　'I　don't　know　either。　Think　of　the　fun　we　could　have　together；　finding　out。'
　She　reached　down　with　her　other　hand　and　hauled　the　Few　to　his　feet　by　his　collar。
　'Where　did　that　scream　e　from？'　she　said；　without　taking　her　eyes　off　the　guard。
　'It　was　down　this　way。　They've　got　her　in　the　torture　dungeon　and　I　don't　like　it；　it's　going　too　far；　and　I　couldn't　get　in　and　I　came　to　look　for　someone…'
　'Well；　you've　found　me；'　said　Magrat。
　'You；'　she　said　to　Hron；　'will　stay　here。　Or　run　away；　for　all　I　care。　But　you　won't　follow　us。'
　He　nodded；　and　stared　after　them　as　they　hurried　down　the　passage。　'The　door's　locked；'　said　the　Fool。　'There's　all　sorts　of　noises；　but　the　door's　locked。'
　'Well；　it's　a　dungeon；　isn't　it？'
　'They're　not　supposed　to　lock　from　the　inside！'
　It　was；　indeed；　unbudgeable。　Silence　came　from　the　other　side　…　a　busy；　thick　silence　that　crawled　through　the　cracks　and　spilled　out　into　the　passage；　a　kind　of　silence　that　is　worse　than　screams。
　The　Fool　hopped　from　one　foot　to　the　other　as　Magrat　explored　the　door's　rough　surface。
　'Are　you　really　a　witch？'　he　said。　'They　said　you　were　a　witch；　are　you　really？　You　don't　look　like　a　witch；　you　look　very　。　。　。　that　is　。　。　。'He　blushed。　'Not　like　a；　you　know；　crone　at　all；　but　absolutely　beautiful　。　。　。'　His　voice　trailed　into　silence　。　。　。
　I　am　totally　in　control　of　the　situation；　Magrat　told　herself。　I　never　thought　I　would　be；　but　I　am　thinking　absolutely　clearly。
　And　she　realised；　in　an　absolutely　clear　way；　that　her　padding　had　slipped　down　to　her　waist；　her　head　felt　as　though　a　family　of　unhygienic　birds　had　been　nesting　in　it；　and　her　eyeshadow　had　not　so　much　run　as　sprinted。　Her　dress　was　torn　in　several　places；　her　legs　were　scratched；　her　arms　were　bruised；　and　for　some　reason　she　felt　on　top　of　the　world。
　'I　think　you'd　better　stand　back；　Verence；'　she　said。　'I'm　not　sure　how　this　is　going　to　work。'
　There　was　a　sharp　intake　of　breath。
　'How　did　you　know　my　name？'
　Magrat　sized　up　the　door。　The　oak　was　old；　centuries　old；　but　she　could　sense　just　a　little　sap　under　a　surface　varnished　by　the　years　into　something　that　was　nearly　as　tough　as　stone。　Normally　what　she　had　in　mind　would　require　a　day's　planning　and　a　bagful　of　exotic　ingredients。　At　least；　so　she'd　always　believed。　Now　she　was　prepared　to　doubt　it。
　If　you　could　conjure　demons　out　of　washtubs；　you　could　do　anything。
　She　became　aware　that　the　Fool　had　spoken。
　'Oh；　I　expect　I　heard　it　somewhere；'　she　said　vaguely。
　'I　shouldn't　think　so；　I　never　use　it；'　said　the　Fool。　'I　mean；　it's　not　a　popular　name　with　the　duke。　It　was　me　mam；　you　see。　They　like　to　name　you　after　kings；　I　suppose。　My　grandad　said　I　had　no　business　having　a　name　like　that　and　he　said　I　shouldn't　go　around…'
　Magrat　nodded。　She　was　looking　around　the　dank　tunnel　with　a　professional's　eye。
　It　wasn't　a　promising　place。　The　old　oak　planks　had　been　down　here　in　the　darkness　all　these　years；　away　from　the　clock　of　the　seasons　。　。　。
　On　the　other　hand　。　。　。　Granny　had　said　that　somehow　all　trees　were　one　tree；　or　something　like　that。　Magrat　thought　she　understood　it；　although　she　didn't　know　exactly　what　it　meant。　And　it　was　springtime　up　there。　The　ghost　of　life　that　still　lived　in　the　wood　must　know　that。　Or　if　it　had　forgotten；　it　must　be　told。
　She　put　her　palms　flat　on　the　door　again　and　shut　her　eyes；　tried　to　think　her　way　out　through　the　stone；　out　of　the　castle；　and　into　the　thin；　black　soil　of　the　mountains；　into　the　air；　into　the　sunlight　。　。　。
　The　Fool　was　merely　aware　that　Magrat　was　standing　very　still。　Then　her　hair　stood　out　from　her　head；　gently；　and　there　was　a　smell　of　leafmould。
　And　then；　without　warning；　the　hammer　that　c